


Born From Just One Single Glance

by CallistoNicol



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, sifkiweek2020, speakeasy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallistoNicol/pseuds/CallistoNicol
Summary: 1920s speakeasy AU. What started with a look turned into stolen stares and desperate longing.
Relationships: Loki/Sif (Marvel), sifki
Comments: 15
Kudos: 32





	Born From Just One Single Glance

**Author's Note:**

> Happy end of Sifki Week 2020! It's been a grand ride, kids. 
> 
> Many thanks to Eienvine for beta reading and listening to every crazy idea I have.

The club hadn’t changed at all in the ten years since Loki last set foot in it. The same wooden tables surrounded the dance floor, flickering candle centerpieces offering mood lighting, though the place was lit with electricity. The same artwork adorned the walls, with secret messages hidden in the colors to indicate which corners could be used for illicit deals. The floor was still spotless, impressive for a joint that served light food. No bloodstains, either, even though more than one nefarious meeting had taken place here.

The red velvet curtains surrounding the stage swayed softly with the singer’s movements as she danced enticingly, a black baby grand her only accompaniment. The music was to Loki’s liking, smooth and soft. He disliked the loud intensity of the bands that had saxophones and drums. Too much thrumming and blarting. He liked it calm. 

His usual table was occupied, as it should be after a decade. A business man and his woman cuddled there, sipping from their club sodas.

That was one thing that had changed; it wasn’t a dry bar back then, before Prohibition was passed and those who made a living from alcohol had to move underground. Odin was never one to lose business due to the fleeting whims of government, though his public facade would toe the line with perfection. 

Ignoring the bartender trying to catch his eye, Loki slipped behind the curtain to the Employees Only entrance. He tapped out _tum-tum-ta-tum_ and waited for the door to unlock.

The doorman opened the door and nodded at Loki, his widening eyes the only indication of his surprise. Loki returned the nod. Looked like the kid grew up; he was little more than a busboy ten years back, but now he was trusted with security. 

It was more than Loki was ever trusted with.

He banished the thought; he was here to make amends, not bring up old hurts.

He could hear the blaring noise of a proper jazz band beyond the second door. The second door was new, but he supposed the double entrance was meant to keep the sounds of the speakeasy hidden from the more respectable customers.

The doorman opened the second door and Loki stepped into a smaller replica of the first room. He could see where the walls of the old offices had been removed to make room for a gathering space. The tables were pushed much closer together in here. Every seat was filled, faces red with drink and laughter. The dance floor was active, multiple couples moving in time with the upbeat song. 

Loki was momentarily overwhelmed, so he took refuge at the bar and ordered a whiskey. 

“You’re new,” a feminine voice called from his right. Turning, Loki met an enchanting creature. Her dark hair was bobbed and accented by a jeweled bandeau across the forehead. Her red lips curved into a smile, rendering Loki incapable of examining her dress. Thoughts of his family vanished as he was drawn in by that smile, a smile a man could get lost in. To cover for his rude staring, Loki shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across the back of his stool. He was feeling a bit warm. 

“Not new,” Loki replied. “It’s just been a while.”

“I’ll say. I’ve been here every night for five or six years and I’ve never seen you before. I’m Sif.”

The name was familiar and he immediately placed her. Tyr’s daughter, a few years younger than him and Thor. Rambunctious thing, always playing with swords and knives and forever threatening any male who came too close. She’d interrupted more than one of their fathers’ business meetings when her fights got out of hand and she wounded someone’s son.

“Loki,” he said, and couldn’t tell if she recognized him. She never did manage to stick one of her pointy toys in him, so perhaps he wasn’t worth remembering. 

“Here for a night of nostalgia, or will your face become a permanent feature?” she asked. He must not be memorable, for if she remembered him, she would know he was the prodigal son of the establishment. Or perhaps Odin had Loki expunged from family record and never spoke of him again, giving Sif no reason to think of him twice.

“Uncertain,” he answered, sipping at the whiskey placed in front of him.

“Travel much?” she asked, leaning forward ever-so-slightly.

“Mm,” Loki said in confirmation.

“Excellent,” she replied, her eyes glowing. “Tell me about your travels. I’m bored stiff listening to everyone here discuss business and which political candidate is likely to make mayor. I want to hear something new.”

Starting small, Loki described local travels, certain the topic would quickly bore the woman in front of him, but her rapt attention and clarifying questions led him to discuss his travels across Europe and Asia. He didn’t mention how he was running from his family or searching for himself, but besides that, he held nothing back, sharing every minute detail of his journeys.

Sif listened intently, asking the sort of questions that told Loki she had never left the greater New York area but desperately wanted to. By the end of the night, he was so heady from all the attention, he almost offered to make all her dreams come true and travel through Europe together, just the two of them.

He didn’t, though, but only because he could picture his mother’s face if she knew Loki stopped by the bar and never came to see her. He had returned to fix things with his family, after all, and he was not going to allow some pretty face to distract him from that.

Shortly after midnight Sif offered him one last beautiful smile before leaving with a, “See you around, traveler,” said in such a way Loki knew she wouldn’t mind seeing him again.

He smiled against his drink. 

* * *

Next time they met, Loki was nursing his third whiskey, cursing his father for being an immovable ass. He shouldn’t have come home. Reconciling wasn’t worth the effort of meeting his father’s demands.

“You look one step away from bumping yourself,” Sif said, sliding onto the stool next to his. Loki turned his head slightly to greet her, too tired to use actual words. “Rough day on the job?” He snorted. “Rough day at home? Your dame making it hard?”

Dame. As if. Loki didn’t think there was a broad perfect enough to suit Odin, and any attempts Loki could make at finding a woman to fit him would only be met with pursed lips and dismissive eyes. “No,” he said, reaching deep to pull forth actual words and not just grunts. “Father.”

“Ah,” she said perceptively, accepting a glass of wine from the bartender. “I know how that is.”

He didn’t doubt it; these days, Tyr was second only to Odin himself. “You won’t go into the family business, or you won’t marry the person he wants?” he asked.

He didn’t think she was married; she didn’t wear a ring. But better to know up front. “Marriage,” Sif said. “I pitched a fit over my father’s proposed contract, and now I won’t play nice with the intended groom.” Malice tinted her grin. “There are so many men upset with me I don’t think I’ll ever walk down the aisle.”

So she wasn’t caught yet. Loki didn’t have to feel guilty about his increasing attraction to her. “There’s more than one way to skin that cat,” Loki said, lifting a brow at her.

“How, by running away with you?” She laughed, malice replaced by amusement. It sat pleasantly in Loki’s stomach. “I don’t think there’s enough distance in the world to keep us safe if I tried that.”

Loki wondered what Odin would do if he ran away with Tyr’s daughter. He’d be disowned for certain.

Sif redirected the conversation, and they ended up chatting about her childhood and her obsession with steel weaponry. When Loki asked why not just use a gun, she shook her head and said, “So uncivilized,” then spent an hour convincing Loki guns were cold and unfeeling, while swords were intimate. You didn’t kill a man in cold blood with a sword; you felt every inch of steel sliding into his soft body. It made death personal, and made one think twice about murder. Guns made offing a man too easy; you couldn’t see the pain in his eyes when you shot from a distance, so you didn’t have to think if he truly deserved the death he was dealt. The coward’s way out, she called it.

Loki wasn’t sure he agreed. Death was death, whether it was intimate or not. At least a gun was swift, ending a man’s misery without prolonging it. Odin certainly preferred guns; he’d raised both his boys to be good shots. _You never know when a man will need killing_ was the Odinson family motto.

“May I never be on the other end of your sword,” Loki said, tilting his drink towards her.

* * *

The third night Loki sought Sif out, joining her at a table in the corner. She looked surprised to see him, them smiled so enticingly Loki almost kissed her. Only a lifetime of emotional repression kept him in check. “Too good for the bar?” he asked.

“My potential fiancé suggested it,” she said, “but he forgot to show. I think he’s engaged elsewhere with a brainy little thing.”

“Uncouth,” Loki said, wrinkling his nose.

“He should enjoy her while he still can,” she said, looking down at the table. 

Ah. Their marriage contract issues must be resolving nicely. That, or Tyr (or Odin; Loki was unaware how involved his father was in his underlings’ affairs) had made sufficient threats. 

But he didn’t want to talk about that. Sif was still free, and Loki wanted to enjoy her company. “Dance with me,” he ordered, offering his hand.

She glanced at his hand, her eyes sliding up his arm to meet his eyes. “How do you know I don’t have two left feet?”

“I don’t care,” he told her. “I want to dance with you.” She looked undecided, so he added, “My two right feet will make up for your two left, and together we’ll make a decent go of it.”

She laughed and placed her gloved hand in his. Pulling her to him, Loki escorted Sif to the dance floor, where they engaged in several lively numbers. Sif did not have two left feet; she moved with the grace of a panther, matching Loki’s own skills. Together they twirled across the floor, the fringe of her evening gown flying as she moved. Dancing with her was like dancing on air. 

When they at last returned to their table, their faces were red with exertion and laughter. Sif did not relinquish her hold on Loki’s hand, and he made no move to leave her touch. She regaled him with tales of dances from her youth, and Loki shared the dances he’d ruined by pranking the hostesses. Thank goodness for the blaring of the saxophones, for it hid the gaiety of their laughter. They would have stood out in the calmer front room.

Sif’s eyes smouldered when she bid him goodnight, and Loki went home happy for the first time in years.

* * *

On their sixth encounter, it was Sif who looked one drink shy of bumping herself. Sliding into the chair next to her, Loki said, “Rough day?”

She waved her left hand dismissively, and for a brief, terrible moment Loki thought he saw a glint of gold on her ring finger. Relief coursed through him when he realized it was merely a droplet of liquid. Not willing to ask about her fiancé, Loki instead clasped her hand in his and asked for a dance. Sif’s face cleared somewhat, though the cares of her day were still on display in the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. “Please,” she said, just shy of desperate. 

Together they twirled and two-stepped and did the Charleston until there was nothing left on Sif’s face but laughter. 

* * *

Nearly two months in, Sif found Loki in a foul mood, frustrated with his father, who hadn’t informed Thor of Loki’s return and wouldn’t let Loki see his brother. It was a petty game of control, and Loki was annoyed at how easily he played into it. He’d thought himself so clever at evading his father’s far-reaching grasp by switching hotels every night, but his determination to see his brother left him crawling back to his father day after day, even after it was clear Odin would never allow Loki to be part of the family business—either of them. Only the promise of seeing Sif gave Loki any bit of light in his life.

“I know Odin can be harsh,” Sif said, a lingering _but_ left dangling unspoken from her lips. Her pretty mouth twisted, an ugly gesture to match the state of Loki’s soul. She sighed. “I have no kindness to soften that blow. I wish I did.”

“You know Odin is my father,” Loki stated, surprised. “I didn’t think you remembered me.”

She offered him a self-deprecating smile. “I always remembered you,” she said. “I just did not realize you were the same Loki from my childhood.”

“When did you make the connection?”

“After the first night we danced.” Her fingers traced a droplet as it streaked down her glass. “I awoke in the morning to dozens of letters from my friends and their mothers, crooning over my audacity at dancing with the younger Odinson all night. That’s when I learned.”

The younger Odinson. She meant nothing by it, but the moniker sat bitterly in Loki’s stomach. He had initially left because _younger Odinson_ was all anyone would refer to him as. That, and discovering he’d been the abandoned child of his father’s mortal enemy, brought home only so Odin would appear more beneficent than the recently departed Laufey. He didn’t like the reminder.

He distracted both of them with a dance, hoping Sif would forget where he came from, and hoping he could forget wanting to see his brother.

* * *

“I’m getting engaged tomorrow.”

Sif’s voice was bland as she dropped into her chair beside Loki. It had been three months, three glorious months since their first evening together. Their acquaintance had grown into something more, bringing Loki a joy he never thought he could experience. Loki had foolishly hoped it would never end, yet with one small sentence, his happiness crumbled. It was not a surprise; he’d been expecting it for some time. 

Still. Tomorrow was a long way off. 

“Let’s dance,” Loki said, their preferred method of ignoring unpleasant things. Her enticing lips curled slightly as she placed her hand in his. 

They moved with the energetic music, feet flying in well-rehearsed steps. They swung about the dance floor, switching partners, returning to each other, never staying still long enough to remember what they were trying to forget. 

Just as Sif returned to Loki’s arms, the lights went out and the band stopped playing. A blackout, meant to hide the illegal speakeasy from the prying eyes of the police. It didn’t happen often—hadn’t happened at all since Loki returned—yet everyone froze in place as if it were a common occurrence.

The darkness was absolute. If Loki did not have his arms around Sif, he would not know she was there. As they tried to stifle their heavy breathing, the darkness brought a different kind of electricity. Loki’s nerve endings felt on fire as he held close the woman he loved.

It was a terrible idea, especially in light of her news, but foolish things happened in the dark. He did not pause to think, and, pulling Sif as close as possible, Loki tilted his head and pressed his lips to hers.

He did not linger, staying only a moment, but that moment had to be enough to last him a lifetime.

He drew back, a false apology ready, but Sif did not give him a chance to utter his lie as she chased his lips, sealing them to hers in a desperate kiss. The electricity between them increased as Loki deepened the kiss, Sif responding with ardent passion. 

The kiss did not last long—it was dangerous to last too long—yet it seemed to stretch for eternity. Loki had no sense of time when they parted, certain a year had passed, equally certain that the kiss hadn’t been long enough. 

“It changes nothing,” she whispered, barely more than an exhalation.

“I know,” he whispered back.

The lights turned on, the band started playing again, and they retreated to their table.

* * *

It changed nothing, yet it changed everything. There was an acknowledged heat between them now that was previously unspoken. It could no longer be ignored. So no longer did they sit next to each other, but across the table from the other. There was no more dancing. They never touched. 

* * *

A week after a diamond ring appeared on Sif’s finger, she brought her fiancé. Loki, so proud of his composure, could not help it when his jaw fell to the table.

Sif was with Thor.

“Loki?” Thor asked, confused. When Loki gave the tiniest nod, Thor’s entire face lit up. “Brother!” he cried, rushing to embrace Loki. Loki was too shocked to move, and found himself hauled out of his seat in a most undignified manner. “It’s so good to see you! Sif said she had a surprise, but I never imagined this!” Thor dropped Loki and turned to grin at Sif. Loki tugged at his vest and shirtsleeves, trying to right the damage Thor inflicted. “This is the greatest engagement gift in all the land,” Thor declared, moving to wrap Sif in an embrace. Loki had no words as his eyes met Sif’s over Thor’s shoulder. She looked at him with concern. 

Overwhelmed. That was a word he could use. 

Sitting at the table as Thor prattled on about who knows what, Loki did his best not to sink into despair. Bad enough Sif was to marry another, but his own brother? If he wanted any sort of relationship with his family, he would be forced to see her forever.

Loki stood up, mumbling something about getting drinks. Thor declared it a grand idea and hurried to the bar while Loki was still trying to figure out how to move his feet.

“Loki?” Sif said, her soft voice snapping Loki to attention. He dropped heavily in his seat, trying hard not to glare at her. “I thought you knew,” she whispered so no one could overhear. “I thought you knew.”

He didn’t, and it was painfully obvious, and he couldn't say anything because the only words that would spew forth were vitriol. Sif didn’t deserve to hear it; she wasn’t the source of his anger.

Thor returned, talking animatedly about all that had happened in the decade since Loki left, and Loki remembered that Odin never told Thor about Loki being in town. His anger surged, and only Thor’s joy at reuniting with Loki prevented him from searching out his father to level the man with his fists. 

Family business be damned. Loki no longer wanted any part of it.

Thor remained oblivious to Loki’s rage, but then, Loki had been so angry when he left 10 years ago that Thor no doubt thought this was how Loki was.

The evening passed pleasantly enough, at least outwardly. Loki drank more than usual, but it prevented him from saying anything that might inadvertently hurt his brother. Thor danced with Sif, then offered Loki a turn, but Loki politely refused, claiming his alcohol consumption prevented him from remaining upright. Sif said little, though her hazel eyes stayed on Loki all night. He wished she would look away. Meeting her gaze burned like fire.

Loki finally excused himself after midnight, citing an early morning (lie). No one followed him out.

  
  


* * *

He stayed away for three days, wishing he could drown his sorrows without leaving his hotel room. He bitterly cursed Prohibition and all the biddies who supported it. He wanted to get blackout drunk, but didn’t want to risk going out in public to find a speakeasy, where his father’s men could spy on him or he could run into Sif.

Gloom settled heavily on his heart, and Loki regretted ever thinking he could come home.

After the first day, Loki stopped thinking of himself long enough to admit this must be hard on Sif. He should speak to her, clear the air, let her know becoming his sister was fine. (It wasn’t. It never would be. But he was a master liar.) But first he needed to get his face under control so she would believe his fabrications. 

It took time (two days), but at last his features were smooth, his brows perfectly poised to affect an air of disinterest. Returning to the jazz club, Loki planted himself at their table, wondering if she would show.

He nursed his drink for an hour before Sif arrived, flanked by bodyguards. Her siren call hit Loki in the gut and his face fell, his carefully curated expression wasted. Even knowing she belonged to another, knowing she belonged to his _brother_ , Loki couldn’t help but be affected by how lovely she was. Beautiful, certainly, but he didn’t just see the softness of her cheeks or the curve of her lips. No, he saw an engaging conversationalist, a quick wit, a sly tongue. Someone who could keep up with him. Someone who saw something of worth in him.

Being here was a mistake, but it was too late to back out now.

Sif spotted him, holding him trapped in a long glance before sashaying to the bar to order. Drink in hand, the fringe of her dress swished around her legs as she made her way toward Loki, she left her guards at the bar. The lavender of her bandeau made her hazel eyes particularly vibrant.

Thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking. 

“I wasn’t sure if I would see you again,” she murmured as she sat across from him, sipping at her alcohol. Loki said nothing, not sure his lips could form anything other than _I love you_ or _run away with me_. “I’m glad you are here.”

Loki tipped his drink at her, grasping for something to say. 

She fished an envelope out of her bag and slid it across the table to Loki. A wedding invitation. 

“Thor thought I should deliver it in person.”

With shaking hands, Loki picked up the heavy parchment, his eyes barely taking in the elegantly scrawled name on the front. Slipping out the invitation, he stared at the date. Agony crawled up his throat.

_Two weeks_.

“Our fathers saw no reason to wait,” Sif said softly, barely audible over the sound of the band. Loki tried to swallow. “Strengthen the family ties and business connections as soon as possible.”

“Can you plan a wedding that fast?” he rasped, wishing he held water instead of gin. 

Sif gave him a sour look. “It’s been in the works for months at the hands of my mother.”

Her mother. Not Frigga, then. Not that Loki could resent his mother for aiding as she did not know about his love affair with Thor’s bride, but all the same, he was glad his mother was not part of it.

“I see,” he said.

Sif started wringing her hands anxiously. “Will you be there?” she asked slowly, and he knew she meant was he planning to attend, not would he be there because she wanted him to be.

“It’s my brother’s wedding.”

She looked at him. “But will you be there?” she repeated.

The only correct answer was _of course_ , but Loki couldn’t quite push it past his lips. 

“I want you there,” Sif said, her hands stilling. “I know it will be hard—” _for both of us_ went unsaid “—but I still want you there. It’s selfish, I know, but…” She looked at him, her eyes deep pools of some emotion Loki refused to name. “I want you there,” she finished, offering no explanation.

And in that moment, Loki knew exactly what to say. “Of course,” he lied, gently sliding the invitation back into its envelope. “Of course I will be there.”

She relaxed, smiling the tiniest little smile, and Loki welcomed his sudden surge of guilt. He would tell her every day for the next two weeks that he would be with her on the most important day of her life. And on the day in question, he would be on a train to nowhere, running from her.

He would not return.

Offering his hand, Loki said, “Dance with me?”

  
  


* * *

Every night for the next two weeks, Loki met Sif at the bar. Some nights she was there for hours, some nights only long enough to say hi. She was always escorted by a guard now, though the men stayed out of her way. 

Loki listened to Sif prattle on about wedding plans and seating arrangements, offering lighthearted quips and gentle encouragement he didn’t mean. He stole glances at her when she wasn’t looking, memorizing her face for when he was alone. Time would soften the pain, but he didn’t want it to ever soften her face. He wanted to always remember her as she looked now. 

In return, he spoke generally of traveling in Europe, linking it with his departure the day after her wedding. If she thought he had a plan, she wouldn’t worry so much. And if she worried anyway and tried to find him, she’d be looking on the wrong continent. 

The night before the wedding, Sif popped in just long enough to kiss his cheek and promise to see him tomorrow. “I’ll be the one in white,” she teased, and Loki smiled for her, though his heart wanted to jump out of his chest and tear itself to shreds. 

He had no familial obligations for the wedding to distract him. Thor had his own friends to fill out the wedding party, and Odin, angry at Loki for whatever reason, did not invite him to any family festivities on the wedding eve.

Just as well. Loki did not think he could hide his plans from his mother. 

  
  


* * *

The morning dawned bright and cheery. Loki wished for grey skies and rain to match his mood, but clear skies and a happy sun were better suited to Sif’s wedding. 

He owned little, just a spare suit and a briefcase of important papers. It was a matter of minutes to be packed and out of the most recent of his long line of hotel rooms. He felt no remorse leaving the unfeeling room; it had never been home. Nothing in his life had felt like home until he met Sif. And now he was willingly walking away.

It was early yet; he could still arrive at the chapel, wait for Sif, and whisk her away with him. He didn’t think she’d mind, at least not once her initial anger burned off. They could live together quite happily, running from their fathers. It would be their own adventure, enough to keep things exciting long after the thrill of being together dried up. 

Loki shook his head, dispelling the daydream; he could never do that to Thor, who did not deserve to have his wedding ruined by a jealous younger brother. And Sif would not approve; if she truly wanted out of this marriage, she would have said so, given some indication. 

Closing his eyes, Loki remembered Sif’s smile the first night they met, red and enticing. It was what initially drew him to her. He imagined her with the same smile as she walked down the aisle, decked in while lace, imported from Belgium. Only the best for Tyr’s little girl. It would suit her, for Sif was made to wear elegant things.

He opened his eyes before he pictured her meeting her groom. He could hardly bear the thought. At least Thor was a good man; Sif would not have to worry about his treatment of her. It was the only thing making any of this bearable.

Grabbing his bag in one and and briefcase in the other, Loki strode toward the train station. It was some time yet before his train departed, but just walking toward the station made him feel like he was moving forward instead of stagnating. He would remember Sif forever, but he did not have to remain frozen in the painful moment.

The train station was bustling, and Loki easily got lost in the crowd. Here he was one of many, his story no more special than that of the hundreds of other travelers escaping the city. It was comforting, that anonymity; no one here would cast pity or judgement his way.

He found the platform for the train to New Orleans, not scheduled to leave for another two hours. Locating a bench and a paper, Loki seated himself and settled in to wait.

The words in front of him could not hold his attention, and his mind drifted to what he was leaving behind. A heaviness settled on his chest, and soon his vision blurred. Looking up to save his paper from errant water droplets, through a break in the crowd, Loki beheld a vision in white. 

The crowd blocked his view once more. Blinking furiously to clear his vision, the crowd opened once again to reveal nothing. Whatever Loki thought (wished, hoped, craved) to see had merely been a figment of his imagination. 

His shoulders curved inward as Loki cursed himself for daring to hope. He knew better. Life held nothing for him but bitter disappointment and regret. 

A hand fell gently on his shoulder and his head snapped up. In front of him stood Sif alone, wearing a scarlet coat accented with a milk white scarf. “Hello,” she breathed.

It took Loki a moment for his brain to connect to his mouth, so engrossed was he in staring at the lovely creature daring to stand in front of him and bless his life. But no, it still would not do to hope. She must only be here to say her last goodbyes. 

But how did she know to find him here?

“You’re supposed to be elsewhere,” he whispered, his words stolen by the bustling of the crowd. She crouched down, balancing precariously on her heels.

“Mind repeating that?”

“You should be at the chapel,” he said. “Or in your dressing room. Wherever it is a bride spends the majority of her wedding day.”

“I’m not getting married,” she said. “I can’t do it.” It was Loki’s turn to demand she repeat her words. “I can’t do it,” she said, moving her ringless hands to clasp his. Loki clung to her, desperately praying this wasn’t a dream. 

“But our fathers—”

“Will be disappointed and most likely angry, but I do not think we will stick around for the fallout.” Her eyes flashed, and he was confident if she had a knife, she could protect the pair of them from anything their fathers sent their way. “Unless this train takes us to your family estate,” she said, tilting her head towards the tracks. 

“Thor—”

“This was actually his idea. Well, mostly. He called the wedding off first. Came to me just before dawn to announce he eloped last night with his scientist. He thought I’d be upset, and nearly passed out when I started laughing.” She tilted her head back the other way, considering. “Actually, I think our fathers will be angrier about that.”

Thor had a scientist?

Had Odin known about this?

Who cared? It was not the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Please tell me you’re here to run away with me,” Loki said, pulling her closer. 

“That is the general idea,” Sif said. “I packed a bag and everything.”

Loki did not bother to verify this claim as he surged forward, gathering her in a kiss. Sif nearly fell over, tottering as she was on her heels, but Loki stabilized them both as he deepened the kiss. 

Five minutes ago he had thought her lost to him forever. Now he hoped she would never leave the circle of his arms. 

Sif pulled back, smiling brightly at him, then laughing. She reached up to wipe a bit of lipstick off him. “Red is not your color,” she said impishly.

A thought occurred to Loki. “You said you would be in white,” he accused, though his voice lacked heat. 

“I lied,” she smiled, pressing forward to seal her lips to his again.


End file.
